I can tell you suspect nothing. Which is why this confession is necessary. Ignorance is one thing, innocence another.
No, I can't explain everything.
Some things I don't understand myself. Others I could explain but don't think I should. There are things, of course, that I could explain, but with everything I would have to leave out it hardly seems worth it.
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Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax -- Of cabbages -- and kings -- And why the sea is boiling hot -- And whether pigs have wings.
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2009
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May
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- A fanatic
- The Apocalypse
- Betraying Chopin
- On Cowardice
- Allegro Marcato
- Heartbreak - 1
- Hope
- A blurring of lines
- The search for transcendence
- Concentric Paths
- One Downsmanship
- The loneliest thing in the world
- Interpretation
- Coincidence
- Laugh about it, shout about it
- An embarassment of Rich
- Cause of death
- Cheating
- Prejudice
- The Game
- Troubling allure
- A beacon from Troy
- Everyday
- Suspicion
- Ashvamedh
- The Basics
- Confession
- Il Viaggio a Reims
- What's in a name?
- On Love Poetry
- Lean on me
- Notes on echo
- Life: Third Degree
- Marguerite
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May
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1 comment:
So now the person still doesn't know anything, except knowing that s/he doesn't know something. Nice!
~N.
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